Rohan and Gondor
by Ferosh
Summary: Faramir and Lady Eowyn talk. I own nothing, this all belongs to Tolkein, I just borrowed his characters.


Birds chirped, sweet and softly, the wind blew, cold and restless. Lord Faramir, now the Steward of Gondor, lazily opened one eye and peered out at the sights around him. He groaned, raising a hand to his head. He was restricted to these houses, until he healed. The scenery around him was a blinding white, which did not help his headache. Faramir moved his hand away from his head and pulled the bed sheets that were white also, up around his naked chest.

Faramir could not lie still; his mind was a racing blur. It would not settle on one thought, it continuously flicked back and forth between events he had witnessed. His dearest brother Boromir, lying cold and motionless in the Elven boat, it was such a thing of beauty, but what it contained was heart breaking. The horn of Gondor, broken beside his brother's body was possibly even more heart rending. He had honored Boromir by vowing to always wear the White Tree of Gondor. A small brooch had been fashioned for him, and also cost a great deal, he wore it often. He leaned over to stare at it, the White Tree of Gondor. It looked so delicate, he was almost afriad to pick it up.

He eased himself from the bed, being careful to not upset his aching bones and muscles. He pulled on a dark shirt, such a difference from this white room, and pinned the broach on to it. Faramir pulled on breeches and a pair of brown, once muddy boots, and flopped back down onto the bed. He sneezed, and several more followed the first, he grimaced. Spring was not his season. He laid a hand across his stomach and sighed, blowing strands of hair out of his eyes. Faramir felt so useless, resting here while he could be ridding the land of the small bands of Orcs that still roamed it.

After Aragon, the rightful king of Gondor, had left to fight this small remainder of the war; Faramir had felt lost, he did not know what to do with the weeks he was boxed in this place. While Aragorn was here visiting his comrades, he had done well, under the warden's strict supervision. Healing Faramir well, leaving only painful blisters in place of the burns he had once had. Aragorn had helped in curing the young Merry, he was as chipper and cheerful as any Hobbit should be. He spent his time with Pippin roaming the land that surrounded the house but never straying too far, Faramir suspected they were under orders not to wander to far. The Lady Eowyn had healed well under Aragorn's care as well as the warden's. She had regained her colour, and she was beautiful once more, though her arm was still in a splint. She spent her days staring out at the once fiery mountain of Mordor, Mount Doom. It was a power that had nearly undone her. From its fiery depths came the Nazgul, strong and fierce. And Eowyn, alone had defeated the greatest power in Middle Earth. Faramir could not help but feel a little intimidated by that, she scared him. They had spoken on a few occasions, but mainly small greetings as they passed each other in the halls. Faramir enjoyed her company, she was a great pleasure to speak to as well as to look at. He had determinded one thing about her in their small conversations: that she was stronger than he; she was like his brother, his faithful, kind and loving brother. Eowyn was strong.

Faramir sneezed again for the fourth time. He sat up in his bed, staring out the window, the sun was setting and the wind roughly caressed his face, bring water to his eyes. He rose and walked to the archway that served him as a door, he stepped out, feeling the strong gusts trying to force him back into his room. He could not help feeling useless, and like a burden to all who cared about him. He wanted to fight, but he was not well enough, though in a few weeks he would be. He relished the thought. _I'll be out of here soon_. He promised himself, licking his dry lips, but the wind quickly stole the moisture away from him.

He saw her, standing alone, a thick shawl wrapped around her body, protecting her from the harsh wind. Faramir shivered as he realized how cold it was. The bird song ceased as he walked towards the Lady Eowyn.

"You look well, Lady." Faramir noted, though this was not entirely true, she still looked ill, as though the fight with the Witch King had sapped her energy from her.

She jumped a fraction, his voice had surprised her, Eowyn had been out here alone for some hours, but she welcomed the company. "Do not tell such lies, Lord Faramir." She muttered, he strained his voice to hear her speak. "I know as well as any that I look sick and poorly."

"I do not tell lies." Faramir laughed. "You look much better than when you were first brought in."

"Thank you for such kind words, you look well also. I hope that you will be leaving soon?" She asked, in question as much as fact.

"Hoping to see the last of me, Lady?" His smile returning.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Eowyn said, like she was startled by her own words. She quickly withdrew her eyes from his. "I simply thought that you would like to leave this place, it is so dull."

"You are right, but I shall miss your company greatly."

"And I will miss yours."

There was a silence between them; they both stared out in the same direction. The sun was setting further into the sky, and light rays of colour were expanding acorss the sky, times like these where beautiful, when there was nothing to fear and the time of Sauron was over and done. Faramir felt another sneeze coming; he tried to control and turned away from her so she would not see. He sneezed lightly into his hand, cursing as he quickly dug into his pockets trying to find a handkerchief.

"Here, you are welcome to use mine." Eowyn said, handing him a white (curse that bland, boring colour!) handkerchief.

"I thank you kindly, Lady." Faramir took the item from her and bowed his head to her. He rubbed his hands. "I will clean this and return it to you."

She nodded. "Lord Faramir?" She asked, her voice going quiet again.

"Yes, Lady?"

"Do you ever think about those who are lost to us, lost from this world?"

"If you are referring to my brother, Boromir, then yes. I mourn his loss greatly; for it was not my own, all of Gondor share my sorrows. But when the rightful King is crowned, I hope Boromir will rejoice with Gondor." He said. "Do you think of your uncle often?"

Lady Eowyn nodded. "I mourn my own loses as you mourn for Lord Boromir."

"You have lost many kinsmen, Lady. Your losses are greater than mine."

"No loss is small, Faramir."

Faramir drew back a little at the harshness in her voice, but she didn't mean for the cruel tone, he noticed her eyes were soft and forgiving. "We should remember what they did in life, their achievements." Faramir said to her.

"That I know, I still feel alone, sometimes." Added Lady Eowyn, her eyes trailed over Faramir's face as she waited for his reply.

"You are not alone, Lady. You have my friendship, and the friendship of Gondor."

"Rohan and Gondor." Lady Eowyn smiled; it was a true smile, one that lit up her face gloriously. She did not look ill anymore, she looked full of life and young again. She touched the broach on his chest, her fingers lingering as ran them lightly across the White Tree of Gondor. "That is a thing of beauty," she murmered. "Thank you Faramir, I hope we can talk again soon." With that she left, retreating back inside the white healing rooms, and out of sight.


End file.
